Birth of the Dragon Elves
by igore
Summary: Build an empire, grow an army and resurrect a dead god. It's a lot, but Ruvaak Wolf-Born, Last dragonborn, husband to Sylgja and Borgakh, father to Sofie, was going to stop at nothing to protect his family.
1. The Long Midnight

_In the beginning there was the Void, where then entered the primordial forces Order and Chaos . From these came the divine spirits, the Aedra favoring order, and the Daedra favoring, in turn, Chaos. At great cost to the Aedra, the mortal realm of Mundus was created. Center of this realm is the world Nirn, on which Tamriel, the great continent, sits. From this land many races were birthed, notably the Mer, Elves, direct descendants from the Aedra, Men, made from the land itself, the beast races, Khajiit, the cat people of Elsweyr and Argonians, the lizard people of Black Marsh. As is the way, for thousands of years empires and kingdoms alike rose and fell, people who were one, divided and became many. Leaders ruled through greatness, sadness and sacrifice. There now sits a crumbling empire, and from its weakness arises the Aldmeri Dominion, believing it is their birthright, they seek to dominate all of Tamriel. But paltry are the ambitions of mortals under the light of infinity._

Birth of the Dragon Elves

By Brii'Se'Brom

Grand Archivist

Greymoor Academy

_An account of the events preceding the creation of the Dovah'Fahliil_

Year 837 of the Fifth Era

As with every Dov'Fahliil, I am blessed with the sight of my end as it nears. With the end of my life on Nirn I will join with Drog'Bormah, as every one of us has and will. Before I begin that glorious journey, I will leave one last gift to my people - my account of the events that lead to what we have come to call, Dinok'Se'Wuth'Laas, Death of the Old life. The result of the efforts put forth by Ruvaak'Se'Brom the first Dragon Lord, and my father. I hope that through this account my people will remember their connection and responsibility to this land and those that reside here.

Before the Dinok, I was known as Sofie, a streetrat of the city Windhelm in the province of Skyrim. When my father adopted me, it was the first year of true happiness I had ever experienced. I had a home, a family, a life. I knew many things about my father, that he was the last Dragonborn, a Legate in the Imperial Army, the Archmage of the College of Winterhold, and a Thane of the Nine Holds, none of which mattered in the face of the fact that I knew he would do anything and everything to give me a future. It is that tenet that would drive him to change the world as we knew it.

Prologue:

The long Midnight

Before my eyes even open I can feel the air rushing past my face, cooling the sweat dripping down my forehead, all the muscles in my back and stomach tensing as they lift me up in all their aching glory. For an agonizing moment there is nothing beyond the rush of blood pounding in my ears. I come back to my surroundings, disoriented, clutching the bedding and furs about me. My eyes begin to take in the surroundings, a sea of forms lit dimly by the sky outside.

Relaxing the best I can, I slowly swing my legs off of the much too comfortable bed. I sit elbows to knees, holding my face in my hands, trying to calm and center myself. To clear the ache that the sudden action has bedded in my bones, feeling the cool air dry the sweat slithering down my back. With that, the brain rattling between my ears comes alive, and I turn to look at the women in my bed, Sylgia and Borgakh, two of the most beautiful women I've ever met.

The thick blankets and furs used to keep out the winter chill obscures most of them from view, but I'm able to see they sleep soundly. I have not woken them this night, and I fear it is because they have gotten used to my frequent night terrors. I just can't get used to a soft bed.

I've grown used to uncomfortable circumstances; stone floors, and lice infested bedrolls invariably placed where a cursed stone digs into your side. I have slept soundly in all these places, always with the threat of death delivered by a knife in the dark from some traveling bandit, or the jaws of a wandering spider. But give me a large house, companions, one wonderful child, a warm bed with two beautiful women who love me, and I can't get through the night.

I get frustrated at the ludicrousness of it all.

I spent thousands of gold septims and a month of my time building a house for my friends and family, trying to make a home, safe from the evils of the land, and I can't sleep in the damn thing without waking in a cold sweat. Combing my hands through my long hair, I stand and leave my two companions to their dreams.

With skill speaking of years of practice, the soft sound of my feet hitting the floorboards dies in the air, keeping the sound of my movements to myself. The room is filled with the dim blue and red of northern lights blazing through the night sky outside, seeping through the animal skin panes of the windows to caress the clean cut and newly sanded planks of the floor and walls. The dull surface of the iron fittings don't hold the light, creating black spots in my vision. A sea of forms that I navigate with ease. Dark wood dressers and shelves, dotted with books, candles and other frippery, telling more of Syl's touch than my own

Deep green drapes and fabrics dot the place. The unexpected memory of joking to Sylgia, as she had the fabric delivered in great boxes, that the forests had invaded, flits through my mind. That had earned me a 'soft' punch to the temple by Bor, her subtle way of telling me not to pick on Syl. As I walk out the bedroom, I run my hands across the lentil of the master bedroom door. I can't hold back my pride at the skill my companions and I had shown in making this place.

As I enter the main room, hues of blue, red and purple come in from the cold night and light up my surroundings. I pass the display case holding my twin swords and the mannequin displaying my Imperial Legate armor. It had been my one request when the women were furnishing the place with the trappings of the home.

Display cases and the mannequins were an extravagance, but I was a nostalgic sort, and no one had ever accused me of not being proud of my accomplishments. I'm the Archmage of the College of Winterhold, Harbinger of the Companions, Thane of the Nine Holds of Skyrim, and Executioner of the Bear.

_Ulfric_. The thought of him brings an old anger. The Bear of Markarth, leader of the Stormcloak rebellion, may Tsun damn and blast him for his arrogance.

Sighing, I paused at my daughter's door, watching the wonderful little monster sleep. Sofie, child of the streets waiting for the tight grip of death in the cold, now sleeping in the best bed money could buy.

Windhelm had been in a bad way after the success of the Imperial assault. Buildings and lives had been lost in the melee, and Ulfric's head had rolled to a stop at the base of his former 'throne.' I couldn't take any satisfaction away from it. Even after Tullius's inspiring speech, I had felt a melancholy fall over me, walking between the fires and ruins of the improvised barricades. I had understood that there weren't any winners in war, but it wasn't until I saw a Dunmer civilian crushed under fallen rubble that I felt it in my bones.

I'd found Sofie huddled in some broken boxes and barrels. I had seen her before on my last visit to Windhelm, delivering that damnable axe Balgruuf had sent. Leaving the meeting with a bad taste in my mouth, angered by Ulfric's blatant disrespect, I had spotted a small red-headed girl, mud caking her ragged dress, thin and dirty, trying to selling flowers to people who didn't care. Thin and dirty, mud caking her ragged dress, trying to sell flowers to people who didn't care. Observing her from afar I had seen steel in her heart, approaching without any meek desperation of many of the downtrodden, facing the derision of those she solicited. By the time she reached me I already had two gold pieces in my hand, ready to give her without expectation.

After much vehement arguing, however, I realized that she wasn't going to accept charity, and if I didn't take a damn flower she wasn't going to take the Septims. So I took the sad looking mountain flower and gave her enough to feed her for a week. With a crooked smile and a firm pat on the head, I left her to her life. I remember Borgakh, clad in Imperial armor, looking at me with the slight quirk in her brow at the flower in my hand. Tucking it into my cuirass, I had left the city to face my future, secure in the knowledge that I couldn't do anything for the small girl, my life being as dangerous and wandering as it is.

But that was before the war had come to Windhelm's door.

When I saw Sofie next, huddled in the rubble, holding her hands over her ears, eyes shut tight, I couldn't help but remember being in the same place many years ago, trying to keep my mother's screams from my mind. With the heavy thought guiding me, I was in front of her without realizing it, scooping her up in my tired and bruised arms. Out of instinct, she began to keen and struggle.

I merely held her tight and told her I was there, and that it would be okay. After a moment she collapsed into my shoulder, sobbing her little heart out, and for what could have a moment, or several hours, I stood there among the fires and the dead, holding her, frail, shivering form, telling her over and over again that everything was going to be alright. After Sofie's tears had dried, she looked me bold face in the eyes, and without hesitation I said it one last time: 'everything will be alright.' I didn't know it at the time, but I had just sworn an oath I would go to Oblivion and back to keep. After that, Bor and I left the city, Sofie's arms in a stranglehold wrapped around my neck.

That was a year ago.

Sighing, I push away from her room, secure that she'll sleep through the night even with Skyrim's dancing lights going on outside. Turning, I make my way down the stairs, running my hand through the long strands of hair I keep at the top of my head, the stubble of the shaved sides prickling my palm. I spark a flame in my hand, lighting my path, the first trick of magic I learned from my mother. The light glints off the mounted heads of animals, books stuffing the shelves, weapons and armor displayed with pride, all the remains of the adventurous life I've lead. But I see none of it; all I see is the flame in my hand as I make my way to the long table in the middle of dining hall.

I don't hear the snores of my companions, the friends who have become family, in the downstairs bedrooms, nor do I hear the wind whistling along the hills surrounding the house. All I see is the flame in my hand. And from the flame my mother's face dancing in the light as she shows me for the first time to focus my will and light the tinder of the small hut fireplace. Inevitably, the memory of leads to the night the only home I knew burned. So cold, seated in the snow, hiding from the Thalmor surrounding the house, watching as my mother burned alive inside. She kept screaming, and I just begged and begged for her to stop, and when she did…

Clenching my eyes, I snuff the flame out. So many memories I've tried to surround myself with, hoping to keep the others at bay, but even with all the trophies and accomplishments, it didn't matter. They're still there, waiting for me in the quiet moments. And if it wasn't for my family, I might have gladly succumbed to the dozen doors of darkness presented to me.

As quick as dragon's blink, my sorrow turns to rage. Sorrow was for the weak, sick or dying. Sorrow was for the soldier who died of old age and would never please Malacath with their glorious death. I had learned this over and over again. Looking at my pink skinned hands, I remember how they would bruise and bloody fighting everyone.

I am of the Orsimer, with the ears, eyes, and teeth of one, but the mouth, skin, and nose of the Nord mother that birthed me. Every day, from the age of five onward, was a fight because of this. For years on end, I had been mashing bone and organ, because if you didn't, then it would be yours receiving the treatment.

Getting my face pushed in by some Orc who thought it was fun to bruise the pink halfbreed, fighting dogs for food because I didn't belong in the stronghold-there was no sympathy for sorrow there, no comfort for the ones who whined and cried out. Larak, my second father and chief of Mor Kazghur, would beat me black and blue if he saw me now, wallowing in my emotional filth.

With a frustrated growl, I get up, and the indignance of my own stupidity strikes me. I've had enough of this kak! I am Ruvaak Wolf-Born, Black Dragon of the North, SosSeBrom to the dragons, slayer of the-

The wooden floor underneath my feet and a cold chill in the air remind me that I'm only wearing my small clothes. I deflate, and I chuckle, shaking my head; I deserve all of those punches from Bor sometimes.

"Good morning, laddie!"

"Molauch's Balls!" I had turned to go to bed only to have the blank whited eyes of the Prince of Madness facing me. There is nothing on Mundus more terrifying than a Daedric Lord, and none more unpredictable than Sheogorath, and he's standing upside down looking at me with a full tooth smile.

"So good to see you again, or maybe this is the first time. Who knows these days?" I look desperately at the upstairs doors to my family, and my resolve solidifies like ebony in my core. Daedric Prince or no, he wasn't getting past me. But in the moment I looked away he's moved impossibly twenty feet away and is now at the head of table, seated in a throne that could not possibly have been taken into my house, gilded in gold and carved in ways no human hands could manage.

"Don't worry my boy, no one will be able to hear us, and if they do, I'll just turn into a mouse, and then I'll tickle their feet and burrow into their brain! What good fun." The shadows surrounding us deepen, and soon I'm not longer in a home, a room, but in the abyss. Just the darkness and this man in front of me tamely examining his fingernail.

"Now, on to business! You! YOU! YOU YOU YOUYOUYOUYESYOU!" His voice is at my ear. The madman sits there at the end of the table, his swirling purple and red suit and snow white hair, and his lips move as if they were shaping the sound of his voice. But the sound, the living voice, was screaming in my ear. Even with the bending sensation on my mind that this creates, I manage, barely, to hold myself together.

"You have earned a great prize, or a great curse, depending on who you ask."

"That's very generous." My voice quivers to my shame, but I am barely physically holding myself together. I don't particularly care about his prize or curse. All I'm trying to do is not pass out and focus on keeping my senses about me.

"Aye, my pointy eared friend. Ya see, every hundred years or so, I go and find my mind. It's not hard, 'cause I keep it nice and safe and tucked next to some of the finest cheese!" He's up in a second, circling around me, talking to the air in front of him. I'm able to see the seeming middle age Sheogorath displays on his skin. But the spryness of his walk and movements undercut any presentation. The constant contradictions are unnerving.

"But unfortunately, when I do I am reminded of who I was, and who I was doesn't quite like who I am. They don't get along. The only thing they do agree on is that you need something. A curse or a prize, they didn't say."

"That seems hard." I'm starting to focus on the conversation as I acclimate my mind to this situation. I still feel the sweat sliding down the side of my shaven head, though.

"Oh aye, it is. But it is nothing compared to the task set forth before you. Why, if I had such a complex and difficult task, I would go mad! Why, just thinking about it makes me want to wipe out half of my followers and drive the other half sane. Which they don't like too much themselves. Being as mad as they are." He has stopped in front of me, facing away. Suddenly, with unnatural speed, he twirls theatrically to face me with a smile that chills my bones. It's all I can do not to flinch away, it is the only accomplishment I can attest to.

"So, my boy, which would you like?"

"What?" My reply slips out before I can think, a testament to how shaken I am.

"The thing you've been needing since the beginning, boy! Make up your mind, what do you want: a prize or a curse. Both are likely to kill ya, so I guess there isn't a point! But that's the way the game is played." I know Sheogorath is not duplicitous by nature, only that what he may consider a prize might be a pit of vipers to a mortal. I also know that the options are limited and if I begin to bore him, he's liable to turn me into a chicken or transport me a mile in the air.

"The prize, I guess?" I say, trying to anticipate getting a plate of cheese.

The smile just grows even wider.

"Alrighty! But first the curse!" Suddenly, he's got a walking staff raised in the air, and there is only a moment to hear him before he brings it crashing down on my skull so fast I can't even begin to bring my arms up to block the blow.

I understand in an instant that the curse is knowledge, because the moment the staff touches me, I am filled with a memory that hasn't occurred but is as certain as the sun rises.

_I'm running with a dozen wounds all over me, weeping my blood onto the snow-covered grass. In the middle of the night, I see the glow of the fire from behind the hill. Clutching my broken arm to my stomach I run forever, the pain and cold sapping my strength. It's only replenished when I see the bright light of Heljarchen Hall in a towering blaze. _

_I suddenly don't feel my body; I'm moving forward at an uncontrollable rate. I can barely hear my screaming as I trip over Gregor, my Housecarl. Throat open, blood on his lips, his sword inches from his fingers. He's not alone, for every one of the friends I have are strewn around my house. Next to some of them are Altmer in their golden elvish armor, unknown in identity until I spot one in black robes with gilded edges. _

_The uniform of a Thalmor wizard. _

_I move past Gregor and find Borgakh lying not far from the main entrance of the burning building, face down in a pool of her own blood. The grief drops me to my knees before her. My eyes filling with tears, so much so that her face is blurred when I turn her over. Half covered in her own blood, her eyes - once so vibrant with vitality - are now dull. _

_I am lost, the pain clenches my gut, and the cry that pushes at my throat does not find release. I hear myself calling for Sylgia, for Sofie. Light-headed from wound in my side and the pain in my arm, it is when the roof collapses into the basement that I hear them. Screaming in a horrifying high pitch made when flame meets flesh. The moment this sound hits my ears, I am heedlessly jumping into the fire -_ Except all I can see is the wood of the floor beneath my hands, my vomit dripping from my mouth and tears from my eyes. There is someone speaking, blubbering, and I realize it's me.

"Oh gods! Oh gods!" Strands of my black hair lay in front of my eyes as I look up around me. The candles flutter their light along the walls, all around me is peace and quiet. The wood roof that was once aflame is untouched, and all the trappings I have collected sit calmly in stone silence.

I have somehow ended up on my hands and knees of the floor and vacated the night's dinner onto the rug Sylgia brought from her house at Shor's Stone. Blankly I imagine the wrinkle in-between her eyebrows born from the disappointment at this.

"Don't worry, lad, it's only the future that will most likely happen. They could die much sooner."

"How…?" Bleary eyed I stare at the tall white haired man standing next to me. He seems almost a giant to me now. I want to run into the rooms, shake everyone awake and hold my daughter. But I can't manage to stand.

"How do you stop it? I don't know, I'M THE PRINCE OF MADNESS! If I knew, how would I be able to tell you? Oh yeah, with my mouth!" The contrast of his tone, and the sick wrench in my gut is making me dizzy as I stand unsteadily.

Ignoring his ramblings, I begin to walk towards my chest of paper I keep in storage on hand. I need to plan, I need to prepare. By Malacath, what I saw was _not _going to happen. I can still feel the fire, that angry fire that was born from the death howls of my mother settle in my shoulders and slide down my spine. I'm almost to the collection of crates piled underneath the staircase to the upstairs balcony when Sheogorath appears in front of me. The battle calm is set through me like an iron rod, from crown to foot. This Prince of Daedra doesn't scare me anymore, and it shows in my tone.

"How do I stop it?" For a moment I see the tone of my voice strike the Daedric Prince, his face only changing imperceptivity in acknowledgement.

"Oh that's simple, build an empire, grow an army and resurrect a dead god." The return of that creepy smile is an unwelcome friend.

I stare into the milky eyes, my face set. If I was to move Nirn and change the moons, that was what was to happen. The smile on his unchangeable face straightens into a calm smirk, and the eyes that were an opaque white clear, and are the cold grey of my mother. His hair, bone white, darkens into common blond of a Nord from Bruma. For a moment he is a man, in a very strange purple and red suit. This change would have startled me a moment earlier, but I am unmoved. When he speaks, his voice is silk, and accent mild.

"But first." This time, when this form of Sheogorath raises the walking stick, I don't move a muscle. The crack of my skull fills the room, and the darkness whites in my eyes.

When it clears I find myself in darkness on unsolid ground. The sound of shifting metal hits my ears. Immediately I call forward a tiny ball of light which I bring low to the ground. Gold coins. I dig my hand in slowly and find no bottom of stone or wood. Standing back up, the light does nothing to penetrate the blackness around me.

Birthing a flame in my other hand, in case I need to fight with my will alone, I fling the ball of light from the other until it reaches the stone brick ceiling. Pushing a little harder with my will, I brighten the light hovering above me, illuminating the entirety of the space.

I'm on top of a mountain whose base reaches every wall, in a stone vault bigger than the Dwemer city of Blackreach, made entirely of gold coins.


	2. Heart of the Stone

We do not to this day understand the true reason behind Sheogorath's interventions. I had occasion to ask Sheogorath during a very odd and confusing conversation. He merely smiled and told me champions had to stick together. Whatever the reason, I remember waking that morning, and knowing there was something wrong. My father disappeared for two weeks before returning. Before his return, his collection of companions, our family, went on a frantic, yet coordinated manhunt.

It was hardest on my mothers, then known as Sylgja and Borgakh the Steel Heart. At the time having two wives outside an Orc stronghold was considered strange and somewhat taboo. For a person as important as my father in every corner of Skyrim, it was a bit of a scandal in the 'cultured' society. But my parents didn't care, they loved each other. It is that fearlessness and love that carried them to the end of their days.

– _Brii'Se'Brom, Birth of the Dragon Elves_

Chapter One:

Heart of stone

I can't feel my feet, having gone numb four hours ago, and it's making my running harder to maintain by tripping me up on the uneven ground. The light snow falling from the grey sky right now is an irritant, and the howling blizzard curtaining the mountains I just came from has soaked me to the bone. Every time I stumble it's agony on my body, pulling at the sore and torn muscles. The rags around my feet have given up any pretense of keeping me warm, and the food I at two days ago has long since stopped giving me any energy. The hillside it sits on might as well be a mountain, but home is in front of me.

I catch sight of Sophie in the distance working in the garden next to the house, along with Sylgja who is pushing the stone grinder to make the day's flour a little further away. I feel the claw of panic dig in deeper, making my steps even more frantic. Seven days of grueling travel and now I'm a few hundred feet away. I just know something is lurking right around the corner, waiting to jump out, that a sabre cat, or a dragon, or some calamity is going to drop between me and my family.

In the state I'm in, a butterfly could knock me over. In my haze I realize I'm going to fall over at the end of this run. I've lost my sense of balance and there is no way I would be able to get my feet under me to prevent it. I don't care, because as I get closer to them the panic in me rises, and it just seems even more important that I cover the distance as fast as possible, the sound of the screams from my vision driving me forward.

Sophie sees me and stops working. I don't think she recognizes me at first, as I am wearing the rags of a frozen corpse I found in the mountains. I see her beautiful face and I can't help the relieved sob that comes out of me.

"SOPHIE!" It hurts using my voice again but it hits her like an arrow, and she's running down the hill.

"DADDY!" I feel the earth claim me. The pain of the rocky ground hitting my knees stabs through me, making me a bit more aware, but it's hard to keep myself upright with everything spinning around me in a nauseating swirl.

"SOPHIE, GET BACK HERE!" My vision is swimming, but I can see Sylgja running behind her, and I'm confused-why would she tell my daughter to stay away from me?

My wonderful girl runs straight into me with the force of a boulder. I give no resistance and I feel the stones and snow underneath my back when I fall. Instinctively my arms clamp around the shaking girl who is choking me in her iron grip. With strength that I don't have, I sit up with her. She's so warm, my Sophie, and I feel the past days of hard climbing and frozen nights catch up to me. Any sense of dignity is lost to me, any sense of self as a man, an Orc, a warrior. All I know is that I have my daughter in my arms and I'm wailing my throat raw.

We both quiet down, the relief settling us. Her head leaves the crook of my neck to look at me and I push the hair out from her face seeing her tear-streaked cheeks. I can't help holding her face, petting her hair, making sure my little girl is real. I look into her eyes and as a snowflake falls perfectly on her nose, I start to sob again.

"I promised, I promised…" My throat hurts to the point where I can barely make the sound. But the words work a fresh deluge of tears from Sofie and she buries her head in my shoulder. I can hear the faint sound of her voice saying 'daddy' over and over again. I wrap my arms around her as tightly as my weak shaking arms can manage, kissing her hair over and over again whispering to her that I promised.

"Ru?"

I look up to one of the most beautiful sights standing over me. My loves, Bor and Syl, dressed in their evening work clothes, alive, breathing, and looking at me with tears in their eyes. My home behind them, a light snow frosting every able surface. No blood, no flames, no night of tears. They're all alive, and I'm not too late. The world tilts and I fall, deep and far.

Time passes.

Flashes of light and sound move around me like I'm in a roiling stream. I feel soft hands, the warmth of water on my skin and the rich taste of soup on my tongue. I remember waking several times but not the proceeding events afterwards. The faces of my loved ones slide across my consciousness and the dream is pleasant enough, until I am awakened by the light of fire and the high pitched screams of death.

"_Kharjo keep your hands out of the sweetrolls!"_

Unlike so many times before, I calmly come back to the world. It takes me a moment to recognize the voices coming in faintly around me, and it takes me even longer to realize that I'm in my home, in my bedroom, alone.

I hear Kharjo, one of my best friends, downstairs easily enough, debating with our bard and maid Oriella about the merits of allowing him access to the pantry. The food. I nearly drown in my own saliva at the smell in the air. Sylgja has been baking, and if there was ever a reason to get out of bed, it's the wonders that that woman can conjure in the kitchen.

It is night and none of the candles in the room are lit, the only light coming from the doorway leading to the main hall. The blankets of our bed are heavy on me, weighing me down and keeping me still. I push the heavy furs and cloth off me, their warmth having long since become oppressive, making me sweat through my small clothes.

The noise from downstairs reaches me, and immediately I can tell that most of my family is here. Sitting up is a harder task than I'm used to, though whatever food they've given me has given me back some of the strength I've lost. Looking at my forearms laying against my legs, I can see the veins clearly pulsing. I've lost nearly all the softness of my body, the two weeks of near starvation having revealed my muscle and sinew through the skin.

I need to see my face. Reaching for a mirror – a disk of metal magically polished smooth to allow a reflective finish - I can see the sharp angles that already lived in my features have now become gaunt, showing the skull beneath. The odd notion that I will never be rid of this change flits through my mind. Setting aside the mirror, I stand with some difficulty and feel a slight rush of dizziness that makes me grip the wall.

It's a struggle to get it off the bed, but I pull the top blanket, bought from a merchant in solitude, and wrap it about me. I walk a tad unsteadily towards the doorway that leads out into the floor above the main hall. The heat and smell bellow out like a siren's call, pulling me forward.

Once there, I half-fall, half-sit at the base of one of the posts in the entrance of the bedroom. The lack of my usual grace is irritating, and I know that the next few days are going to be frustrating due to my current condition. I should go and join them, but I need a moment to gather myself. Derkeethus is already telling them jokes, his distinct Argonian voice filling the air. Brelyna's soft melodic laughter, along with Kharjo's rasp.

These are my favorite moments, when the house is filled with people, soft light fills the room, the drink is warm and the food satisfies. Times where it seems the happiness of each person is seeping into the wood and iron of the house. Pulling the fur tighter around me, relishing the warmth of it, I can't help but sigh at the man I've made myself. Trying to be someone living in the moment, hidden and protected from those that might take it away. I realize now it was a trap of my own design. It would only kill me, and all those I love. Because the vision was right. There were threats that no mortal could hide from, and trying to often led you straight to them, their jaws open and waiting.

I shift till I get comfortable again on the floor, drinking up the warmth coming from the fire, candles and bodies below. Distractedly, I rub my hand on the floorboards now worn smooth. The light brown of the Morthal pine now a deep brown from my family's feet walking over this spot over and over again. My beloveds' feet mainly. The thought of them lifts a smile to my face.

What a strange road I've traveled so far. Rising up through the ranks in the College with Brelyna, a lovely dark elf, powerful if not a little doubtful of her own ability. Fighting bloodthirsty vampires with Dekeethus, an Argonian miner who's proven more useful than I ever would have thought. Killing mad mages and ashspawn with Teldryn, a simple no nonsense dark elf mercenary who has begrudgingly started to trust me past a paycheck. Fighting off pirates with Kharjo, a friendly Khajiit I met while he was guarding one of the few trade caravans that roam Skyrim. Running up and down Skyrim with Borgakh, my wife and Ghorbash, first and best of my friends. A full and crazy life with wonderful people in the mix.

Any man would be content in continuing down this path, but the vision I've been given has shown me where it leads. Now I have to take the hard road, and change everyone's life forever. Yet, I hesitate.

I hear them down there, they're waiting for me, waiting for me to explain what happened, waiting for me to lead. To be honest, listening to Ghor court Oriella in his earnest but clumsy way, the sound of food being enjoyed, of conversation and laughter, I almost want to ignore the vision, to call it lunacy and just stay here in this moment.

But this moment is a trap. A happy trap full of warmth and love, but just as lethal.

My inner turmoil is broken when I hear small soft footfalls. I peer through the dim light floating in from the downstairs through the doorway. Across from me, coming from the doorway connecting this room to the hallway, I see Sofie's head peaking just above the bed.

My daughter, rubbing her eyes tiredly comes into full view and the heart I have tried to temper like steel melts a bit. Her hair stands up at all points of the compass and she's in her night dress, actually one of Bor's day shirts, her stuffed wolf under one arm while the other drags a blanket behind her. Half asleep, she instinctually walks toward me. That warmth spreads as I find familiarity in the old routine.

Sofie stops in front of me and without a word holds her blanket straight out in front of her. Shrugging off my own I take hers and wrap her up tight, then settle her in my lap, back to my chest and close my fur blanket around both of us. I feel her head settle against my shoulder and, without really noticing, I've started to sway side to side. Soon enough sleep claims the little girl, if her light snoring is any suggestion.

My Sofie.

She used to do this the first six months after Bor and I picked her up. In the middle of the night she'd climb into bed with us. I'd sometimes be awake, and we'd just sit with each other. Now, on the nights she's in bed with us, the girl curls up with Bor more often than naught. At first I thought my wife was going to be irritated by the child, but she took it simply like she does most things. One night I saw Sofie wearing - well, swimming in - Bor's under shirt. When I silently asked with a quirked eyebrow, the wife just told me that the girl had been cold and rolled over.

Sofie is going on ten years old as best we can tell; another six and I'll have to start breaking boys arms. Till then, I have to do whatever is necessary to ensure she has a future. One that doesn't include her home ablaze.

"Well look what the skeevers dug up!" The door banging against the wall signals the return of Ghorbash. I know it's him since he's the only one who to this day won't listen to Syl when she scolds him for banging the door. She knows that it's useless, and often leaves the 'conversation', aka shouting match, grumbling about 'stupid orcs' ruining her furniture.

"Ugly as ever, Deerkethus." As usual Ghorback riles up the rest, his good natured rivalry with Kharjo calling the rest to choose sides, causing debates, challenges, and usually an arm wrestling match. Bor and Ghor are the current champions.

I am relying on sound to tell the story that this warm lump in my lap won't let my eyes do. Ghorback is my second for a reason. A veteran of the legion, boisterous, verbose, but deadly and intelligent when the circumstances called for it. It was those traits that made me convince him to come run around Skyrim with me.

Other than Borgakh, he is my most consistent companion, despite that there was no one better to help me run the business I started a few months ago. When I came back from Solstheim, looking only to settle and build my life beyond my past, I immediately tracked down those I had traveled with to build my caravan business. Among them, the first and foremost I sought Ghorback. At the time he was a traditionalist about the role of women in marriage, which always rubbed Syl the wrong way.

It's traditional for the strongest orc to take many wives, as it assured that only those worthy propagated the Orsimer. But to marry a human, a Nord especially, was considered taboo. Children of mixed race were rare, and almost always considered inferior. It was why so many of others in the stronghold where I grew up took a certain joy out of beating me senseless. The wise woman told me it was the price I paid to Malacath for being what I was, when in reality I was just the outcast of outcasts.

Later when I was living my life for myself, I came to the service of Malacath on my own. I had long claimed to be without religion, but I must admit that receiving the boon of the pariah god, someone every orc hopes to curry favor with, was one of the best days of my life.

I smile at the memory of Syl, incensed, brandishing a wooden spoon as she threatened Ghor that if he didn't get his opinion out of our marriage, she would introduce the spoon to several of his orifices. Though the truth of the threat was there, so was the love. Everything changed between them when he met Oriella. I have never seen this orc as stunned as he was when he laid eyes on her. What proceeded from there was a comedy worthy of song, because Ghor had never even considered courting a Nord, and was hapless to the extreme. Fortunately for everyone, Oriella found his fumblings endearing.

"Yes, well, at the very least my teeth are on the inside of my face, where they belong!" I chuckle at the Argonian's flat retort. Deerkethus's was never really good at sparring with the Orc, and often Kharjo would have to come to his rescue. Deerkethus and Syl have known each other since he joined up with the Darkwater Crossing mining operation a few years ago before getting caught in some kind of trap by a crazed mage, which isn't as odd as it sounds considering this land of ours. Luckily enough for him, Bor and I came across him before he could be used for whatever unpleasant purpose the mage had planned for him. Now he's instrumental in coordinating with the mines in the area.

"I've seen Nords prettier than you." Ghorbash had instantly become friends with the lizard man when they first met, commiserating over mead and bad singing.

"Shaddup, you big dumb brute, otherwise you can expect to keep those lips to yourself." My smile gets even wider while I hear the playful banter between the Orc and his sweetheart. It was even funnier to watch a Nord woman a good foot shorter than him put the Orc in his place.

"For you," he replies. There is tenderness in the Orc's voice that is uncharacteristic of our kind. I smile as I picture them together in my head, following the sound of their voices as they move to recessed spot under the stairs near the kitchen, almost directly below me, looking for a moment of privacy.

"My, a flower from an Orc? What will the others say?" I can hear the smile that she's wearing, the one that makes Ghor duck his head down so that he can look at her through his eyebrows. The look that he thinks Nord women like. It was a sight to see: an orc down to the bone, showing 'soft' feelings.

My ears perk and strain to hear the words meant to not to be overheard. "They in?"

"Kitchen." I immediately understand, Borgakh and Sylgja are in the kitchen. This should be interesting.

I shift Sofie in my arms so I can sit more comfortably. The slight movement has her fussing a tad, but soon enough she's still. I close my eyes and focus my will, concentrating, and it feels as if my ears are traveling down the wall to the room below, the sound changing till it's like I'm there in the room with them, a spell I learned during my stay in the vault. Its thousands of books providing me with unknown knowledge as I had frantically searched for a way out of the vault.

If I'm not careful this might get me in trouble later.

"Bor, Syl. Came as soon as I could." Ghor was trying to be consoling which was admirable, but was never born well from the orcs lips. Consolationis such a foreign concept to most of us, my own coming from my mother long ago.

Borgakhs coarse voice rang clear and commanding. She often ran interference between him and Syl. "Any trouble bringing the caravan to Morthal?"

Ghor's response was just as to the point. "None we couldn't handle. Made sure the rest of the boys knew to wait till they get back to Dawnstar before celebrating their pay. Don't want them too drunk to bring the caravan back for resupply."

"How's your man?" He was more careful with this question.

"He's upstairs still." Syl's voice was the most affected, I know they're all affected but she's one of the few that are willing to show it on her sleeve.

"Well, now that we're all here, I doubt he'll be able to get a good night's sleep, so we should be seeing him soon." Ending the spell, I snap back to myself too quickly and it's a moment before the disorientation leaves.

My muscles strain a little more than I'm used to when I stand with Sofie in my arms. Though I'm not at my top form I silently move away from the light toward the darkened doorway that connects the master bedroom with Sofie's. She shares the room with Oriella, who helps mind her during the day, while the other bedroom downstairs is for whoever among my friends is staying with us. Gently, with practiced ease, I place her in her bed. I make sure to tuck the blankets in on her right side since she tends to roll that way in her sleep. I return to the master bedroom, sit on the end of the bed and wait for whoever is going to come for me.

The room chills my chest and I pull the blanket around me tighter. I look into the darkness, into time itself and the despair that's been picking at me since I've woken up slowly starts to seep in. I know what I must do, it's all very pragmatic, like tumblers in a lock. The fear that leads me by the hand to despair, is whether or not I will be a man I can recognize by the end of it.

Thinking of Sofie, I truly wonder if that matters. This is my family, all of them, from the Kharjo, my Khajiit brother, to Brenlyn, my Dunmer sister. They made me the head of this house, chief of this clan, and thus their safety is more important than all the others in Tamriel.

I hear the creek of the third to last step of the staircase leading to the upper floor on the master bedroom side of the house. It's most likely Syl. That step squeaks the loudest and Bor skips it in an unconscious effort to be stealthy.

I focus on the footfalls as they gently enter the master bedroom. For the first time I realize that I'm humming a tune my mother used to sing to me. When I do look at her I immediately notice the several reactions Syl can't help showcase across her features. Relief…and sadness. I know her so well that it's easy enough to tell reason why. Relief because I'm really here, sadness because though I'm here, I'm emaciated. But ultimately joy is what she shows me.

"Husband." her voice makes the smile that had left me return.

This is an old routine. "Wife."

She quietly sits next to me at the foot of the bed and gently puts my hands in hers, stroking soothingly. In the soft light of the other room, she is a beauty. Sincere in her looks is what I had told Borgakh when we left that first day.

We had gone to Shor's stone, a small mining village near Riften, fought some spiders, ate some food, and bedded the only female, Sylgja, at the camp. Bor and I have done similar things before, each of us being the instigator at different times. And while we certainly weren't looking for another person to join us in life, after our third visit we discovered one of Syl's fellow miners trying to take what she had given Bor and I freely.

We left with her in tow, riding a horse we had bought from the horse merchant near Whiterun, Bor leading the animal by the bridle as we made our way back to Solitude. Six months later we were, married under the eyes of Mara. The idea had come with a strong suggestion from both Tullius, the military governor, and Elisif, Jarl of Solitude and assured recipient for the crown of Skyrim.

My station as a Thane of the Nine Holds, and legate of the Imperial army would make it an issue. Everyone with ears knew I wasn't just sleeping with Syl, our combined exertions having carried through the air of the city, but apparently having an 'official' wife was enough to keep the status quo. I didn't usually care about that, but we really didn't need the entire Imperial nobility in a tizzy over it. Borgakh was at the ceremony, off to the side smirking, laughing on the inside because we were following the edicts of Malacath and that we were going to be spending the next few days having some of the most vigorous sex known to man.

I still to this day get elbows in the ribs and quirked eyebrows at the idea of two women in my bed. I don't say anything, but if they knew the number of times I've walked into the bedroom with those two going at it and had to dodge a candlestick being thrown at my head as Bor's subtle signal to get out, they would know that these two love each other as much as they do me.

"She's sleeping better." Syl knows I'm talking about Sofie, because she nods in agreement. Moving my hands away from her hair I tuck it close to my body under the blanket, trying to warm it back to normal. The lack of fat in my body is making the cold bite harder than I'm used to.

"Now that you're home." Syl's soft voice draws me back and a realize, like I do from time to time, that I am completely in love with this woman.

She stands, moves in front of me, and I nearly groan at the goddess before me. She's softened somewhat, but I know that she still has the strength she's grown over the years from mining stone and ore. Sylgja started wearing dresses nearly the moment she stepped into Solitude. Something about never feeling miner's clothes against her skin again.

But the dresses she wears now all hug her in all the right places, which makes me want to take her with a terrible urgency, something that only worsens as she straddles me and settles in my lap. I slip one arm out of the cocoon of blanket I wrap my arm around her lower back and pull her close. Silently I curse at my current state, as any attempt on my part would end either laughably early,or with my expiration.

Syl takes my face into her hands slowly caressing my too sharp cheekbones. I can't help falling into her eyes, my heart reflected back with hers. Soon the urgency turns into a fair affection as she runs her hands through my hair. It is with that love in her eyes that I take the leap.

"There's a road in front of me that I'm afraid to take." Her explorations halt, and now she's looking at me with more attention. "If I don't, you, Bor, Sophie, and all I care about in this world may certainly die. But if I do, if I travel down the wooded path, I fear I will become lost to you."

The wall around my fear loosens and crumbles, my soft voice making her tear up. This is the risk, my heart, hers, Bor's, and everyone else's on the line right now.

Smiling she dips her head and places her soft lips upon mine, her long hair caressing my face. "You can only become lost to us if we're not walking beside you. Whatever dark path is in front of you, you won't be going alone." Her words touch me deeply to the point I almost can't handle it. My eyes close as I rest my head on her breasts, listening to her heart beat.

"I can't ask you all to come with me." She clutches me close, and I don't think she realizes that I'm not just speaking to her, but Bor who is standing at the doorway.

"You don't have a choice. You don't get to make that decision with this family. It's up to us to do this together." Borgakh's voice breaks our silent agony. There she stands, in her fine black attire, never one to wear a dress. Walking softly as an orc can, she's soon kneeling beside us, one hand in linked with Sylja's behind my head, and so on until our hands are braided together into a circle keeping each other together. Deliberately we put our crowns to each other. The bond made whole.

"I swear to you both, where I go, you will be, where you are, I am." I make the vow with all my will, and I feel the oath in my bones.

Leaning back, Bor looks at me, and for a moment I'm in awe of her, this is the woman I fell in love with at sixteen, and now, clear as day, I see it shown right back at me. That of course is broken when she smacks me upside the head. "Damn well better." Is her only reply. Sylgja's only response is to laugh softly, and for a moment I shake my head exasperated at the abuse I suffer happily. Standing, Syl says she's going to check on Sofie, and for a moment Bor and I are alone.

She won't look at me, which usually means she is ashamed or angry. Seeing the tears in her eyes, I slip my hand to her cheek bringing her gaze to my own. Ten years and to this day they take my breath from me.

My thumb wipes away a tear that escaped and slid down her cheek. Bor grips the back of my head and pulls me into a hard desperate kiss. The silent understanding between us passes and we both speak the bond we share with our touch. Syl soon joins us and we begin to make our way down to the main hall.

As a unit we moved down the stairs, our footfalls silencing the noise of conversation below, and when the family comes into view, there is a myriad of reactions, ranging from Teldryn's pragmatic indifference to Brenlyn's empathic shock. My 'never before seen' emaciation was different to say the least. Walking down I systematically create the path I have to get them through for everything to go right today. First I need them to be somewhat relaxed when I break the news, because this was going to be a tough pint to swallow without their stress.

"Eating all my food again." My casual statement takes a moment before it has the whole lot laughing uproariously, venting the tension out of the room.

"Can't help it if your wife is a better cook than the stupid Khajiit." Ghorbash's jab makes the rest chuckle and me smile, though I know they can tell it doesn't fill my face. I stepped off of the stairs casually on to the ground floor and casually pull a chair from the side to the head of the dining table and sit down. I always need to reinforce that though this table is ours, I run this family. It's been the case since before the house was built, and with so many strong personalities among my family, it has become a requirement. Bor and Syl stand on each side me to push this fact.

"At least I can tell the difference between a woman and a mountain troll." Kharjo's quick response pushes the rest into a bout of laughter as it calls up the memory of a drunk orc and a somewhat amorous troll. I can't help but shake in silently shake in silent laughter. I eventually had to kill the troll and defend myself from a drunken Ghor avenging his lost love.

"That was one time." The Ghor's irate mutter sets them off again. I want to remember this forever, their happy faces, Oriella kissing Ghor's cheek, immediately perking him up, Derkeethus clinking his tankard of mead with Brelyna, all of them lost in the moment of joy. I want to keep this to my heart, because I have a feeling it might be awhile before I get to see this again.

The laughter quiets comfortably, and my first task is complete. They're all sitting at ease, soft smiles, but intent on what might come before them. What I'm about to give them. Derkeethus is the first to speak up, his raspy voice drifting past the now dead silent table.

"So , boss, what's the news?" Now at the edge of it, I thought maybe the beginning would be more dramatic. But like all things, it begins with a whisper instead of a bang.

"Sheogorath visited me. He showed me a vision of the future where the Thalmor kill us all, and then dropped me in the middle of the Jerrall Mountains." I hear the chair creak where Syl placed her hand now, clenching it under her bruising grip. I look every one of them in the eye and take in there their dumbfounded expressions. My own letting them know this was no joke.

"That's a long walk." Derkeethus's joke falls into an abyss of silence.

"Dare I ask why the mad god would do such a thing?" Brelyna's soft voice glides past everyone, gently waking them from their internal shock. The group begins to come alive, looking at each other, Oriella looks to Ghor, but he's staring at the grain of the table. This was going to be the hardest sell of the night. The Mad God was not the best of sources of information, but something in my bones shows me the truth.

My tone is the one that usually drives everyone a little crazy, it usually makes it clear to everyone that I'm not budging on my position. "I don't know. I don't entertain the notion that I could understand that mind. But what I do know is that my belief in the premonition is marrow deep." Unfortunately Brelyna, naive as she is, doesn't recognize it.

"Ru, you know you can't trust anything from that Daedra. It's all a maze with no end, and while he may support you one moment, he will strike you down the next." The young dark elf has a point, and most at the table are smart enough to realize it.

"Whether or not you believe in its reliability, we all know the threat the Thalmor pose. You all know the war that's coming, and I don't think any of us would fare very well under their authority." I see my point drive into their very hearts.

Immediately I know how we're going to function as a group, as we always have in this. Ghor will be loyal, but will try and steer me in the more honorable direction. Brelyna will preach the humanity in the face of my apathy, Kharjo will support her but execute with efficiency. Deerkethus, Malak bless him, will go along with the group, and Teldryn won't care as long as it interests him. I think the former mercenary would even offer to take care of anyone _here_ who got in my way.

"None of us will be better than second class citizens. In their eyes, the Dunmer and Orsimer are tainted goods, Khajit and Argonians no better than beasts, and humans even less. No one will be at even eye with them at their table. Not us, or our children, or their children." I eye Ghor and Oriella as I speak.

The Orc has silently taken her hand, gripping it as it rests on the table he helped carve. I've heard about some of the things that happen in the dominion, the half-breeds being driven out or outright executed. The 'impure' as they were called weren't welcome among the Thalmor. Even High elf and Wood elf intermarriage was considered undesirable. Orsimer were already considered a lower species of elf, I have no doubt about what would happen to any child by Ghorbash and Oriella.

"Did he give you anything else other than a vision we can't trust?" Kharjo was the first to speak, and for a moment I watch each of them, seeing their silent approval. It was the signal that the first hurdle had been passed, that what I've presented them, the clear threat, had to be dealt with. Each of them trusted me on a level that often frightens me, but that trust works both ways, and I feel the reins in my hands now, ready to drive them forward.

"My father…" Everyone perks up at that. I've never spoken about my past before my return to Skyrim, much less about my Orc father. "…told me when I was young, if you have the means and the will, nothing can stop you."

"Here are the means." I take out a coin from the darkness within me, the space of night between my body and my mind, another spell learned in my stay in the vault, and toss it to Teldryn, who catches it without looking. I realize with mild exasperated amusement that he resumed eating as if the news didn't affect him in the least. I've stunned everyone into complacency and he shrugs it off as if it is something he's already seen. I'm always somewhat surprised by the ease this man approaches life.

With efficiency of a true mercenary he examines the coin, and the raising of his deep blue eyebrows is the only change in his expression. "This is pre-Septim dynasty. These don't exist anymore, all of them have been melted down and re-stamped." He tosses it back casually enough, and I snatch it midair.

"There's about a mountain of that sitting in a vault near the Pale Pass. Enough to buy the Empire twice." The implication sets them aflame. They're talking amongst themselves now, about people they know, things they might be able to do, names and places I don't recognize. I'm content to let them mill about at first, let them get excited about the possibilities, even though I can feel Syl's questioning gaze on me.

"Gold will get you far, but there's more isn't there?" My lips curl in what Syl calls my devious little smile as I look Brelyna straight in the face.

"Books." The little Dunmer's face lights up at that, and in an instant I know that Brelyna will go anywhere I tell her.

"How many books?" The dark elf could not keep the salivating tone out of her words.

"Enough to make Hermaeus Mora jealous. Walls full of books, of magic that isn't very common or even known these days." The more I say the more I expect the poor girl to explode. As do Derkeethus and Kharjo, who scoot slightly away from her as she nearly bristles with energy. The side conversations end, and soon their attention is mine again.

"So we have the means, how do you propose to bring down the Aldmeri Dominion? That _is_ what you're talking about?" I stare for a moment at Ghor, and while many might quiver, the Orc stares right back. He makes Malacath proud.

Thinking carefully, I lay it out. "I've found, through my dealings with the nobility, the powerful, and the devious, that often it is the merchant who curries the most favor."

"Trade? You're going to bring down the Thalmor with _trade_?" Deerkethus's disbelief is palpable, and I feel it resonate with the rest of them in some way. Kharjo, who's spent the most time with the caravans agrees, though thinks it unlikely to work, Ghor doesn't get it at all, Brelyna is trying to figure it out, and Teldryn is laughing silently. I'm losing them, and it frustrates.

I'm trying to keep calm as I push forward. "What good are armies with no food, no armor, and no weapons? What good is a king if he has no money to pay his workers? If we control trade, we control the resources, we control who is in power, who has money, and who has armies."

"You'll need to buy up the mines in the Reach."

"The farms and the sawmills."

"We're going to have trouble with the East Empire trading company."

"They won't care as long as we don't touch the ebony mines."

"We do this quietly enough they won't know what's going on till it's too late."

"They'll know the moment we go outside the province."

"We start in Hammerfell." My voice silences the dizzying chatter. "The company has very little presence there, and I know a few people that should be able to give us an in." They have the idea, and I see that they're on their way to agreeing, each in their own way.

Now to put the nail in the coffin of this old life.

"Sheogorath has given us these resources, these tools for whatever reason. We have a choice to make. Either do nothing and hope for the best. Or, we utilize these tools, and do something that may change the very face of Tamriel forever." Each one of them struggles with this question, each has to come to terms with what it means to them. I've lead them to the door and each has to open it.

In the end though, these people are mine, and in these hands I will make them great.

"Well when you put it like that." Teldryn finishes his meal without much fanfare, and puts his attention, focused like a knife to me, waiting for a direction. Teldryn out all my companions is the most unknowable. Where you would think him only as loyal as abundant as the coin, as is his disposition, but the way he looks to me now, it is clear he is under the same sway as everyone else. Loyal to a man who will lead them down a great and dangerous road.

Without them noticing I reach into the darkness and retrieve the mechanism for my great endeavor. Ready to turn the key I stand, letting the blanket fall away. They all see the change in me, my skin drawn tight over the muscle and sinew, every twitch and flex displayed.

I extend my arm straight out holding a stone orb that draws their eyes to its swirling surface. Blue, greens and reds roiling beneath in a great slow storm. I can only look at it for a moment before I feel the shadow in my mind grow into smile so sinister I can feel its own terrible will. My voice turns to silk in this rapture.

"Understand, this road is dark and dangerous. I can't promise that you'll come out alive, but I guarantee that this will change the very fabric of who you are." I can hear Bor's breath become labored, she's always been attracted to my ability to display prowess, and I know from experience tonight is going very vigorous. Ghor is the first to stand.

"We already know what you're going to do." Knowing me so well, he just might. The Orc is first to lift his mug, Brelyna is the second.

"What we're going to do." The affirmation from the Argonian is comforting and Derkeethus is next, Oriella, our ever silent Houscarl Gregor, Teldryn grabs a cup that wasn't his and raises it with his usual arrogance.

"Hated being a guard anyway." Kharjo's comment sends us all into a good amount of laughter.

In their smiling faces I now see new found purpose. Little do they know what a great and terrible a purpose it is.


End file.
